Check Her Out (His Curvy Librarian)

“You said he hasn’t updated in two years,” Nora points out. “A lot can change in two years.”

“But do people change?” I ask, knowing there’s no easy answer to that question. “Especially super-rich ones like the Beaufonts?”

“Well, maybe not the elder Beaufonts,” Cassidy says. “But it sounds like Prescott has. Or at least, it sounds like he doesn’t care about money anymore. He just cares about you.”

I sigh. He did stand up for me to his parents, and he apologized like half a dozen times before we got back to my apartment… but… “How can I have a future with someone whose parents hate me because I’m not good enough for their son?”

“Because they think you’re not good enough,” Cassidy corrects. “Don’t buy into that bullshit.”

Nora practically swats her sister’s knuckles. I have no doubt if she had a ruler handy, she would have done it. “Don’t swear—there are little ears around.”

“Where?” Cassidy asks. It’s early afternoon and school has let out by now, but the library is still pretty quiet for the moment.

“Fine,” Nora says, noting that there are no patrons in earshot. “Point taken, but the kids’ll be here any minute.”

“Speaking of… don’t you have storytime to prep for?” Cassidy says with a smirk.

Nora wanders off to get ready—her kindergarten group is reading a Pig the Pug book this week—and Cassidy gives me a nudge before she heads over to work the reference desk for the rest of the afternoon.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, okay, Brooks?” she says. And I want to try. It’s just that Prescott’s cover is really ornate… and mine’s not.

I go over to the teen section, expecting a few regulars who come here to do homework and just hang out after school. I’m surprised, though, when Ty from the teen center comes in about half an hour later.

“Hey, Ty, what are you doing in my neck of the woods?” I ask.

“Hi, Miss Hart,” Ty says, polite and friendly since he’s by himself and he doesn’t have Jaxon and the other boys around to impress. “I finished Ender’s Game.”

“Oh yeah, what did you think?”

His eyes light up. “It was really cool. It’s a series, right?”

I smile. “Yeah, you want the next book?”

“That’d be great,” he says, and my chest swells with pride. This is exactly what the partnership between the outreach center and the library was meant to accomplish, and it’s only been a couple of days. I immediately want to tell Prescott how great it’s going.

Instead, I focus on Ty. I find him book two—Speaker for the Dead—and get him signed up for a library card. While I work, I can’t help pumping him for a little information.

“So, Ty, how long have you been going to the teen center?”

“Since last year,” he says. “Mr. P did a Madden tournament that brought a bunch of us guys in—not like we have Xbox money of our own—and we stuck around because he’s pretty cool. He’s always coming up with fun stuff to do.”

“He seems really dedicated,” I say.

“Totally,” Ty says. “And I heard a rumor he pays for all of it out of his own pocket. I mean, if I had that kind of dough, I’d probably go out and buy a football team, not Madden for a buncha poor kids.”

I smile. “I bet you’d be more generous than you think.”

“Maybe,” he says, unconvinced. “Nobody’s as generous as Mr. P, though.”

I laugh. “Did he pay you to come in here and say that?”

Ty laughs too. “Nah, I swear. I just wanted that book.”

I pass Speaker for the Dead to him and he heads out. His words reverberate for a long time after he goes, though.

Was I judging a book by its cover?

10

Prescott

It practically kills me to wait all day long, but I go back over to my parents’ house the minute I know my father will be home from work in the city. I don’t even knock like I usually do—I just let myself in and find them having cocktails in the formal sitting room.

“Prescott,” my mother says, surprised. Not nearly as surprised as she will be once I’ve said my piece. “Cognac?”

“No,” I say. “This isn’t a social call.”

“Well, I hope you came to apologize for running out on dinner last night,” my father says. “That was—”

“Completely justified given how you two treated Brooklyn,” I finish for him. “And yes, that is why I’m here, but not to apologize.”

They’ve both got their eyebrows raised, as if I just slapped them in the face. Good—they need to be woken up.

“That was completely unacceptable, and Brooklyn left here in tears,” I tell them. “I knew you two were old-money snobs, but I had no idea you could be cruel like that.”

“Prescott—” my mother tries to object, but I’m not finished.

I hold up a hand, silencing her. “No. Unless the next words out of your mouth are an apology, I don’t want to hear it. I love Brooklyn, I love my work at the outreach center, and I won’t allow you to make me or anyone I care about feel bad about that.”